


Do Not Speak to Me of Dragon-fire

by erunyauve



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Rochirrim, Silvan elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3463016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erunyauve/pseuds/erunyauve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is an attempt to flesh out the back-story of Thranduil's movie-verse wife while avoiding the 'wife captured and killed' trope and following, as much as possible, book canon.  Mount Gundabad is also returned to its proper location.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Speak to Me of Dragon-fire

**Notes:**

We know almost nothing about Thranduil's wife. Perhaps she was attending the White Council during the events of _The Hobbit_. It is equally plausible to imagine that she was dead. We do know that she was almost certainly a 'lowly Silvan Elf' (Peter Jackson's words, not Tolkien's), as Legolas specifically refers to himself as a Silvan Elf at least once in _LOTR_. (1)

We also have no idea when Legolas was born. I normally headcanon that he was born during the Watchful Peace. This story sets his birth back a few years. He is younger than Jackson imagined him to be in the _LOTR_ movies, and probably slightly older than he would have to be in _The Hobbit_ movies.

The Eothéod originally lived in the area between the Carrock and the Gladden, but moved to the region between Mount Gundabad and the Forest River before settling in Rohan. They were always associated with horses - Rohan was named after them, not the other way around.

No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic. In my headcanon, all the horses get away safely.

**Do Not Speak to Me of Dragon-fire**

**Prologue - TA 1955**

This place was cursed, Indir thought, as he parried an orc's scimitar. Not five leagues north of Isildur's last battle, the Elves looked to follow his fate. Death would not be for him, however. The gleam of intelligence in the Orcs' eyes told him that these were the elite of Dol Guldur. He would be captured.

Indir did not mean to let that happen. His father would not rest until he was freed, and the cost to his people would be more than his life was worth.

The fierce giant of an orc looked away for a moment, and Indir took his head as a prize for inattention. With his view no longer obscured, he saw what had distracted the orc. Out of a cloud of dust came a company of golden-haired horsemen. The orcs dropped under a hail of arrows. Those who lived found themselves in the position the Elves had occupied a few minutes ago, trapped between the marshes and the enemy. None would remain to tell the tale to their master.

Indir, however, realised that the message he carried for Amroth paled beside the one he would carry back to his father. Dol Guldur was searching the Gladden Fields.

* * *

**TA 1980**

_"My mother died here. There is no grave nor memory. My father never speaks of her."_ (2)

"We will plant shrubs along the bank, and deep-rooted trees. It will not happen in a year, or even two, but the living things will take hold and keep the river in its place," Tulind explained. "Once we have turned the earth, to bring up the good soil, the trees will keep it from washing away."

Eanfled nodded and turned to repeat the words in her own tongue for the people gathered near. Frumgar and his family spoke Westron, but not all his people knew that language. As she finished translating, a small hand shot out to catch one of her braids.

"Legolas! Bae!" Tulind carefully pried the little hand from Eanfled's hair and moved just out of reach of the tempting braids. "I am sorry," she apologised. "He is at that age when everything must be handled, and if possible, eaten." (3)

"It is no matter. Is he your first?"

The women moved away from the riverbank as the people set to work. "Oh, no. My older son is at home, seeing to things in his father's absence."

Eanfled turned pink and covered her mouth. "Oh, I have been speaking to you as if you were my own age. Forgive me."

This seemed a grave matter. Tulind supposed that age, in a race so short-lived, must carry great weight. "We do not make such distinctions, in our tongue," she said. "Truly, I did not notice."

She shaded her eyes to look westward. "And here are the men. Do you suppose they have done as much as we have today?" she wondered, a glint in her eye.

As the horses drew nearer, Legolas wriggled in the sling on her back. "Ada!"

Elf and Man drew to a stop in front of the women.

" _Faeder!_ You were meant to be bolstering the hedgerows in the upper pasture," Eanfled scolded.

Tulind handed lifted Legolas into his father's waiting arms. "We have been chasing frogs today," she said. "Luckily, they are too quick for us."

"That would explain the mud."

"You are none too clean yourself. What have the two of you been doing all day?"

"We were strengthening the hedgerows," Frumgar said, looking sideways at Thranduil.

"Yes. We were looking for wood."

"On horseback. That must have quite tedious. You would think the horses would eager to run after that," Eanfled said.

"We might have run them a bit," Frumgar conceded.

* * *

Oaths, Thranduil knew well, were not to be made lightly. Even an oath of gratitude might exact a greater price than one could pay.

The Rochirrim had come north to escape the lengthening shadow of Dol Guldur. The Orcs of Mount Gundabad, in disarray after the Witch-king's defeat, were easily chased from the land. Still, centuries of Orkish feet had left their mark, trampling the land between the mountain and River Greylin into desolate waste. Relying on the promise made when Frumgar was still a young man, the Rochirrim had summoned the Wood-elves to turn mud into pastures, shore up the river and restore life to their new land.

To heal the hurts of Ardhon, to bring beauty where Morgoth's creatures had left destruction, was that not the purpose of their people? Was it not for this that the Silvan folk had chosen to remain in Ennor? To redeem his oath at this price would be a pleasure.

* * *

They gathered in the great hall for supper. The village that would become Framsburg was then no more than a few common buildings. The grandeur of the Golden Hall was many centuries in the future.

Frumgar apologised for the absence of his son. "There is rumour of trouble in the lands east, in settlements near the head of the Forest River. I have sent Fram to discover what he can of the matter."

"There were Dwarves there, once."

"So we have heard, but they have been gone many years, I think."

"Not so many," Thranduil said under his breath. Tulind delivered a sharp kick to his ankle.

"We have not seen them in Dale in many years," she said. "Perhaps they have gone to Moria with the others. But the settlements - we heard nothing of this."

"We only received word just before you came. A village burnt, livestock disappearing," Eanfled answered.

At his guests' concerned expressions, Frumgar laid a hand over his daughter's. "We will know more when Fram returns. In all likelihood, it is no more than a pack of hungry wolves."

* * *

At first, Tulind thought Legolas must have awakened her, but he slept soundly. Rather, Thranduil's absence had disturbed her sleep. She kissed her child and put on her cloak.

Thranduil stood not far from the tent, his head tilted as if he were listening intently. Near the tent's entrance the two elves on guard nodded at her. She thought them strangely alert, given that there was little to fear in this place. Probably, Orcs still occupied the bowels of Mount Gundabad, but the Rohirrim had sealed the south entrance, and no Orc had been seen in these lands in over two years.

"You feel it too," Thranduil said, slipping his arm about her waist.

"Something stirs in the night."

"Wolves," he said dryly, "are not in the habit of setting fires." He looked troubled, as if he might say more, but an indignant squawk came from their tent.

They laughed. "That would be your son."

"That would be _your_ hungry son," Thranduil countered.

"Yes, yes." She tugged at his cloak. "Come to bed, melethen. The guards are not sleeping."

* * *

Today, they would plant trees near the settlement and between the fields.

Eanfled divided her folk into two groups. One would plant trees; the other would sow alfalfa seeds in the fields to restore the soil. The Rohirrim were well accustomed to work out-of-doors, the women as much as the men, and set to work enthusiastically. "Soon," she said to Tulind, "these lands will be as green and fair as the vale of the Langflood that we left."

The two women paused to watch the mares with their foals in the east pasture. "Not all were pleased with my father's decision. Many were dismayed, when we journeyed here, for they saw only desolation."

"But you did not," Tulind guessed.

"I knew we needed but a little guidance, and we could make this land whole again."

Legolas patted her shoulder. "Loho!" he said, pointing at the horses.

"We have learnt a new word, have we? Can you say 'rocca'?" (4)

"Loho," Legolas insisted.

'Loho' the horses would be. Tulind certainly could not argue with a child who insisted upon naming the horses in the language of the horse-folk.

After supper, Tulind and Thranduil walked under the stars. "They seem so much nearer to us in the highland," she marvelled. Thranduil found an obliging tree, and Tulind settled against him to feed the baby.

She had borne their older sons while Oropher still lived, and though both of them had duties, those duties somehow disappeared while the children were young. Thranduil could not allow himself such indulgence, but he guarded their evening walks all the more jealously. Nothing short of an Orc invasion of the caverns would persuade Galion to interrupt them.

Angry voices came from the path, and, as any woodland creature would do, they froze so completely that only keen eyes could have seen the elven family under the tree. Frumgar strode into view, followed by a younger man so close in resemblance that he could only be the absent son.

They had learnt a few words of the horse-folk's tongue, and to elven ears, the whispered conversation was easy enough to hear. Still, Tulind only caught a few words that she knew. Twice, Frumgar asked if Fram had been seen.

Fram shook his head, and said something quickly that she could not catch. Then he handed three coins to his father.

Frumgar erupted with a word that was clearly an epithet and raised his hand as if to strike his son. Then he spit on the coins and threw them to the ground, speaking too rapidly for Tulind to follow. His last words were clear, however. " _Sott!_ You will get us all killed."

When they had gone, she turned to Thranduil. "We should speak to Frumgar."

He looked pained. "Men are strange about such things. They shout and expect that others will not hear. They do not guard their thoughts, yet we are meant to pretend that we are ignorant."

"I do not care for their customs."

"We are their guests, Tulind." He smiled ruefully and held up his hand to stop her argument. "We will speak to him in the morning."

* * *

Morning, however, had not yet arrived when a man came to their tent bearing a message: Frumgar would see the Elvenking as soon as possible.

"Please hurry, lord. Our chieftain wished to speak to you last night, but you were not to be found."

Tulind gave Thranduil a meaningful look as they hastened to dress. He twisted and secured her braids in her customary coil while she changed the baby's swaddling. Wrapping Legolas in her shawl, they left the tent just as a cry went up.

"Fire in the west pasture!" Terrified whinnies filled the air.

"That is not fire that has those horses so panicked," Thranduil said, listening.

Tulind handed Legolas to one of the guards. "Take him to the river. Make haste!" She turned to Thranduil. "The trees are afraid."

In the pasture, men cut down the hedgerows to free the horses, while women formed a bucket line. A shadow passed overhead. As it neared the mountain, it turned back with an unearthly screech.

The horses fled as the Men stood still.

Thranduil's chief guard came running. "It is a dragon! Fly if you wish to live!"

Eanfled dispersed the women. " _Fyrdraca! Fyrdraca!_ " she cried. Fire-dragon!

The dragon flew low over the pasture, spewing fire. As it returned to the sky, a few brave archers took aim.

Thranduil suddenly realised that Tulind had left his side. Looking back, he saw her running from their tent with her bow in hand.

"Tulind, no!"

"Do you want it to kill us all?" She did not wait for an answer, but ran into the pasture. Oblivious to the fire that caught at her skirts, she drew her bow.

He recalled the first time he had seen her, dancing around the fire at the Mereth Crithad. The flames brought out the highlights in her light brown hair, turning the coronet of braids into a crown of gold. (5)

The dragon could not ignore the illusion.

"Tulind! It has seen you." He ran toward her blindly. He could never have reached her, could not have saved her even if he did. As the dragon bore down on the field, a great force hit him from behind. He fell to the ground, the screams of the dying in his ears before he knew no more.

* * *

He awoke in a haze of pain. She was gone. His counsellor, his dearest friend, his love, half of his heart, was gone.

"Aranen, you are awake. How are you feeling?"

He stared at the healer. "You need ask?"

She bowed her head. "Are you in much pain?"

He became aware of the bandages that swathed his left side.

"The chief guard threw you to the ground and spared you the worst of it. Your injuries will heal, in time. He was not so fortunate, the guard. Many were not."

_Many were not._ A wave of alarm went through him. "My son."

The healer smiled. "The baby is unharmed. We sent him ahead, for we travel too slowly with the wounded. My sister is just weaning her little one, and will take good care of him."

By day, the healers dosed the wounded with strong draughts that they would not be sensible of the jostling on the road. At night, Thranduil longed for escape into his dreams, where he once again walked with Tulind under the stars.

"The dragon is dead," his sister-son reported without joy. "Fram, son of Frumgar, killed it." He hesitated. "We burnt the remains...we could not even separate the Men from Elves. I am sorry."

Thranduil turned his face toward the wall of the tent. What use had he for her bones? How could a cairn replace love and wisdom? How could he live without her? How could he _rule_ without her?

* * *

When sleep claimed him that night, he found himself walking with her in the garden, and this time, he knew that she was no dream.

"Have only two rounds of the sun passed since we lay beneath this beech?"

"Strange that the garden was so empty that night," Thranduil mused.

"Yes," Tulind smiled smugly.

"One might think that we had ordered it to be so."

"One might think," she agreed. "Perhaps, even then, I knew." She turned to him. "I used to smile when Indir was young, and yet already so much a mirror of his father. Legolas is mine. You will look at him and wonder how you came to have such a son, and then you will remember me. It is all I can offer." She released his hand and turned to him. "I cannot remain long. Even in death, there are rules," she said.

"You never did like rules."

"Nor wisdom, apparently."

"I have never thought you less than wise."

"I was a fool - it was not my time...there is so much I wanted to teach him. Do not let him forget that he is one of the Silvan folk - teach him the ways of my people."

"Our people."

"Our people."

"I have never known so fine an archer to miss her shot."

"You once said that Elves are not dragon-slayers."

"You never did like rules." He smiled faintly.

"Fram killed the dragon," she said firmly. "You have no time for grief, melethen. Ennor grows darker."

He knew this. His heart warned him that Scatha was not least of the evil things even now awakening.

"I am not the sum of your life, nor you of mine. Our people are more important."

He touched her arm. Already, the form she had taken was leaving her. "Do not go."

"You know I have no choice." Her voice came to him as if from a great distance. She was gone.

* * *

As they came to the borders of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil remembered Tulind's words and mounted his horse, defying the healers with their draughts and concerns. The advance party would have spread word of her death. His people did not need to see their king lying insensible on a bier.

At the first guard post, and at each watch thereafter, the guards stood by the path, heads bowed in sorrow. As the path neared settlements, the Wood-elves gathered at the party's passing to mourn their queen. Again, Thranduil wondered how he would rule without her.

Beyond the doors to the palace, Indir, hollow-eyed, waited with faithful Galion and Legolas' nurse. Silently, Thranduil hugged his older son. What words could they say, what words could express the sorrow of a son and a father?

Legolas fussed, and Thranduil held out his good arm to take him from the nurse. The baby all but flew into his embrace, sobbing as a child abandoned. Legolas knew only that his caretakers had left him. He would have no memory of her. As Thranduil soothed his son's cries, he thought it would be better that way.

* * *

 **Notes** :

**Relevant Dates and Background:**

Mount Gundabad is not, as Jackson seems to think, somewhere in the Withered Heath. It is located at the junction of Hithaeglir and the Ered Mithrin. Given its position, it probably did provide a doorway of sorts between Eriador and Rhovanion.

1975 - The Witch-king is defeated in Eriador.  
1977 - Frumgar leads the Eothéod north.  
???? - Fram kills Scatha, dragon of the Ered Mithrin. He refuses to return Scatha's hoard to the Dwarves from whom it had been stolen, and sends instead a necklace made from Scatha's teeth. It is said that Fram was slain by the Dwarves.  
1980 - The Balrog appears in Khazad-dûm.  
2463 - Déagol finds the One Ring.  
c 2505 - Eorl tames the first of the Mearas.  
2510 - The Eothéod win the Field of Celebrant and settle in Rohan.

( _LOTR_ , 'Appendices A and B')

**Languages** :

With one exception, I've followed Tolkien's use of Old English to represent the language of the Eothéod.

With respect to the Silvan language, Tolkien quibbled quite a bit, stating in various places that it was the language of Thranduil's people or that it had fallen out of use, and that Oropher and his descendants spoke Sindarin or that they adopted the language of their people. In _LOTR_ , we are told that Legolas' native language is Sindarin:  
 _"Yrch!" said Legolas, falling into his own tongue._ ('The Great River' p 386)  
  
However, the Silvan tongue was alive and well and Legolas spoke it:  
 _"It is a fair song in our woodland tongue; but this is how it runs in the Westron Speech..."_ ('Lothlórien' p 339)

We know almost nothing about the actual language, but we can suppose that since the Wood-elves were originally those of Lenwë's people who did not follow Denethor into Beleriand. Thus, the language of Denethor's people, Nandorin, is probably close to Silvan. ( _Unfinished Tales_ , 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Appendix A' pp 269-270)

* * *

(1) Legolas specifically refers to himself as a Silvan Elf at least once in _LOTR_.  
"But the Elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the silvan folk, and the trees and the grass do not now remember them." ( _LOTR_ , 'The Ring Goes South' pp 283-284)

(2) My mother died here.  
( _Battle_ _of the Five Armies_ , New Line Cinema 2014)

(3) Bae!  
No!: neo-Silvan from Common Eldarin _bá_ and based on Nandorin _snaes_ from possible CE _snatsá_. Helge Fauskanger theorises that _ae_ might arise from _a_ in stressed monosyllables. ( _Parma Eldalamberon_ , Vol XVII, 'ABA-' p 145; Helge Fauskanger, _Ardalambion_ website, 'Nandorin')

(4) loho, rocca  
Horse. Loho is one of the few Rohirric words Tolkien gave us. ( _The Peoples of Middle-earth_ , 'The Appendix on Languages' p 53)  
 _rocca_ , neo-Silvan from CE _rokkô_ , based on Nandorin _golda_ , from CE _ñgolodô_.

(5) Mereth Crithad  
'Harvest Festival': _mereth_ , festival; _crithad_ , reaping. _Crithad_ appears here in the Sindarin genitive (lit 'Festival of Reaping'), which is marked by the absence of lenition.


End file.
